horses, for she knew she was utterly ignorant of the conditions.
Yet she was sorry for them, and especially pitied the mothers and
their young.

The stream of horses was nearly an hour in passing the observation
point Rhoda Hammond had selected. The creatures kept on at a
swinging canter; never at a walk. Hurrying, snorting, sweating with
fear of they knew not what! The odor and dust that rose from the
seemingly endless stream of animals finally became rather
unpleasant in the nostrils of the onlookers. But they were held
there until all should have passed.

By and by the last clattering hoof of the herd was gone, the rear
brought up by a bunch of the very young and their mothers, as well
as some few lame ones. Then Dan MacCormack, red-bearded and
black-eyed, rode by with the rest of the herdsmen, raising his
sombrero to Rhoda and her friends.

At the extreme tail of the procession came the chuck wagons of the
four outfits, each drawn by four mules with flopping ears and
shaved tails, the drivers smoking corncob pipes, and the cooks
lolling beside them on the seats, their arms folded.

"Now we'll go," said Rhoda, it being possible to speak in an
ordinary tone once again and be heard. "When we get out of the
canyon we'll circle around the herd and precede it to Rolling
Spring Valley, where the branding pens are set up."

Grace rubbed her gloved hand tenderly over the scar on her pony's
hip and said to him: